SILVER
by Jasie Song
Summary: An american swordmaker comes to Hogwarts under Snape's care, and she seems incapable of fear.
1. Sword

DISCLAIMER:  
  
I do not own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, or any other setting elements. Those all belong to JKRowling. This fanfiction is purely for entertainment and no monetary profit is being made from it.  
  
SILVER  
  
~ I give you the edge of my sword, that I might never cut you.  
  
~ I give you the hilt of my sword, that you might be shielded from fear.  
  
~ I give you the jewel of my sword, that through me you will see beauty.  
  
~ I keep the sheath of my sword, so that we may be one.  
  
Chapter 1: Transaction  
  
The sword was balanced, with a precision the man holding it found intriguing. Though not excessively ornate, which he found pleasing, it had a strong hilt and a blade far sharper than a razor.  
  
"Master Snape, I assume it is to your liking?" A tough man with shallow eyes tried to catch the attention of his customer.  
  
"This shall suffice. Have you the two hundred we require ready?"  
  
"I packed them as soon as I heard you were coming." The seller grinned, a plastic sort of smile but well satisfied. "Your special order should take two weeks."  
  
"One week." Snape replied, and sheathed the sword. "Master Ablator, you fail to recognize the urgency in my client's situation."  
  
"Of course." The owner of the armory shop paused, his smile faltering slightly. Perhaps he thought that Snape was purchasing so many magic swords for Voldemort.  
  
Snape sneered, which made his face look more normal, as if sneering was its usual expression. Imposing, with the stringy hair that came from working in the fumes of potions over the years, he was a professor of potions at the Hogwart's school for Witchcraft and Wizardry. When the American craftsman Ralph Ablator had come to Scotland, Headmaster Dumbledore had lost little time in sending his Potion's instructor to collect two hundred magic swords for his army, and three more on special commission.  
  
Ralph lifted a large chest from the corner with ease, a cherry wood trunk of some overly ornate design that Snape found nonetheless intriguing. Had Craftmaster Ablator created the chest, he was indeed a man of talent.  
  
"You press these runes here - " Ablator displayed by tapping a few of the carvings. "And the chest opens." It glowed lightly, a tasteful aura of silver, and then the lid slid open, revealing the treasures it contained. Two hundred magical swords, each crafted in a special sheath and then wrapped lovingly in a silk scarf of sorts. Ralph took the sword from Snape and a cloth from the wall, roughly wrapping the weapon and tossing it in with the other.  
  
Snape's eyebrow twitched as the sword clanged, as if offended by the lack of care and the noise. The chest closed then. He tapped the rune sequence once to assure himself he could open it. "The chest comes free?"  
  
"With all orders over a hundred. There is a scroll in the bottom describing its other uses."  
  
Snape nodded, then lifted the trunk. He was not surprised to find it seemed to way nothing. Such magical trunks had found their way into legend, and were often called 'bags of holding' by infernal groups of muggle role-players. He nodded again to Ablator in respect; such craft took a great power indeed.  
  
"I shall return in one week." Snape stated, and left the crafthouse that was far larger on the inside than it was from the out. 


	2. Silence

Silence the children, they cry too loud.  
  
Silence the men for their shouts strike fear.  
  
Silence the women for their cries mean death.  
  
Silence my heart for it beats too strong.  
  
Chapter 2: The Girl in Her Tower  
  
The girl sat on her bed, a blank look to her face. She watched the magic mirror at the foot of her bed, and her father's latest customer.  
  
Professor Severus Snape, she recognized him from the Potion's journals her father sometimes brought for her when in a good mood. She recognized him from the dream.  
  
"Taking the credit again." She sighed and turned a moment from the screen, a silver blonde curl brushing her cheek. Her father left the mirror for her, so she could always see. It was a slow form of torture, but she had learned to care less as the years went by. She made the swords, he sold them. That was the way the world turned.  
  
She looked back to the mirror, watching the man examining the sword. Watching his stance, she could infer that he was no stranger to a longsword, but was far from a master. She looked down to the hilt, where the RA insignia was imbedded lightly in silver. No doubt the professor thought it stood for Ralph Ablator.  
  
Rhanna laughed lightly and regarded the man's eyes. She thought he had nice eyes, dark eyes, pits of unfathomable secrets. The girl fancied she knew a few of his better kept ones.  
  
Her father thought he was a Deatheater for Voldemort, and Rhanna had done little to sway that opinion, as her father did much business for the Deatheaters. In her dreams he played the masked man, he hero under mask of darkness. Snape interested her in an intellectual way, and Rhanna was convinced he was an agent for good.  
  
Snape picked up the chest, and she caught the motion of his hand over its surface. She wondered if he knew just how special the chest was, how she had made it specifically for him when she had learned three days ago that he was coming. Her father would be quite irate if he ever foundout the 'extras' she had thrown in.  
  
Trapped in her room most of the time, she enjoyed breaking the rules once in a while.  
  
Rhanna stood; Snape was leaving. She had to get a message to him. Palming a small pin from her desk, she pressed a sequence of petals on the silver rose design. It vanished. She was glad it had worked. Her father had set up wards to detect to casting of spells in her room, but he had not thought to ward against the use of magic items. She had made the pin amidst the flurry of making the large sword order; her father had not noticed, as he was too excited at the large amount of money he was receiving.  
  
Snape was an intelligent man, she was certain he would figure it out. 


	3. Music

Oh! Beat the drums for this land needs a rhythm  
  
Oh! Strum the harp for this country needs peace  
  
Oh! Play the pipes for this place needs laughter  
  
Oh! Play the trumpets and herald the dawn  
  
Chapter 3: Crime  
  
Although Professor Snape intended to apparate once off the main road, he did not intend for the chest to suddenly gain weight. It was only a pound, or nearly, but it was enough to make him pause and examine the trunk. He saw that a silver box of sorts had come to occupy the shallow cylindrical indentation that had been in the lid. He set the chest down: dark magic was a distinct possibility.  
  
"If you can hear, please respond." A decidedly feminine voice came from the chest, young but utterly calm.  
  
"Identify." Snape responded crisply, his wand at the ready.  
  
"Craftmistress Rhanna Ablator. There are defects in your order you must be aware of."  
  
"What?" Snape did forget to hex the talking box, perhaps in surprise.  
  
"Thirty of the swords are of inferior quality to the rest. I had a decided lack of time and my father cut off my supplies. I dislike working under pressure and I dislike it more when crucial ingredients are depleted. You should know them by the yellow stones in the hilts, as I made sure to set the ones I deemed scrapworthy with topaz. They of course are still functional, moreso than normal swords, but if you are going to be using them as anything more than decoration, you really should get my father to replace them."  
  
Snape laid a hand on the lid, not touching the silver rose. "You are implying you crafted these swords, and many of them are of inferior quality? Master Alblator is a master, I specifically requested that he forge the swords."  
  
"My father could not make a pencil, Master Snape, let alone a sword. I inherited the talents of natural forging from my mother, before she passed, and I make all the armament here. My father sells it, as who would buy from a child?"  
  
"Who indeed."  
  
"No need to agree." There came a hint of crossness in Rhanna's voice, which prompted Snape to touch the rose. Immediately a sort of shimmer in the air formed, and he could see wide eyes staring as if through a mirror. "I did not forge the box to link to my mirror." She said quietly. "Although not all powers of an object are known at the first forging."  
  
"You are the daughter of Master Ablator?" Snape pinched his nose, as if growing bored. He looked at her through slitted eyes, a young women kneeling on her bed in clothes too small.  
  
"Yes, Craftmistress Rhanna, as I said. When we moved here, my father took my title. 'Better business', he claimed, and business has been good since. But I do not condone the selling of inferior work. Look at one of the topaz blades."  
  
"I have little time to hunt through the chest."  
  
"A simple finding spell will do." An eyebrow of hers went up, and he glared at her. She did not flinch.  
  
Snape nodded curtly and drew two blades from the chest, one a topaz.  
  
"Blast them, Operto Magna should convince you."  
  
"I know how to test a sword." He replied testily, and deftly blasted both swords with his wand after casting the proper silencing charms. It was fortunate the town was all but deserted. The first sword easily neutralized the blast. The second took a few seconds longer, and a small scar was left on the hilt. "That's it?" He let the comment slip out; both blades were impressive.  
  
"I told you it was inferior, not useless. Now you can use the return policy I wrote in your trunk manual, although you may not wish to inform my father. Approaching him directly would be - unwise."  
  
Snape replaced the swords and fished through the trunk, oddly compelled to trust the girl. He saw no deception in her eyes, even though their shade was as black as his, with only a few streaks of silver to distinguish hers from his own.  
  
"This is not the standard return policy."  
  
"Of course not." Rhanna grinned then, a slightly mischievous smile that lit her face up. He noted then, how exhausted and worn every feature proclaimed her to be. "I rather, took liberties when binding the magic to that particular contract, as with the trunk. You see, I have over thirty swords, identical in appearance, back in stock, of higher quality and higher power than the ones you just purchased. My father knows not of the extra powers, and being identical the switch will not be noticed. It is why I chose the topaz stones. I would much rather hand those swords over to you and give your faulty ones to the next shadowy sort who pressures my father into selling to him."  
  
"And how do you no my purposes are not dark?" Snape raised an eyebrow and tried out his sneer again. She still did not back down.  
  
"For one, you ordered primarily defensive blades. The unseemly kind always order swords with all sorts of nasty curses thrown in. Curses, I might add, your blades are warded against. Second, I just know." She stared at him in earnest. "You fight against evil, no matter the mask you wear. Third – these swords are slated to go to Hogwarts, aren't they?"  
  
"What these are for is none of your concern. Perhaps I intend to slaughter a village of helpless children."  
  
"If you did, you would not tell me." Rhanna laughed. "Please, say the spells. If not now, then when you are back at Hogwarts and have taken time to examine and consider. The swords I have in back took many days to forge, and have the powers of nature itself at their disposal. While far from the caliber of the swords I will be forging for your special order - by the way, one week is really not enough time to forge three master swords- the swords are high in offense as well as defense."  
  
"I will consider what you have told me." Snape responded stiffly. "If you are lying = "  
  
"If I am lying, feel free to stalk in and cut my heart out." The girl looked slightly bored and not a bit frightened of Snape's posturing. "Say hi to Headmaster Dumbledore -"  
  
Rhanna paused, staring at the mirror. It now showed its usual picture of the front room. Snape had found a way to shut the link. That almost made her sad. She lay down and turned on her side, closing her eyes. She would have precious little time to rest before beginning work on the three special order swords. 


	4. Catch!

Catch! How the cat has cornered the mouse,  
  
Catch! How the clouds all are bound to the wind;  
  
Catch! How a fool falls prey to his folly,  
  
Catch! We only fight wars that we cannot win.  
  
Chapter 4: Topaz  
  
Headmaster Dumbledore regarded his Potion's Master with an even and merry gaze, and made a show of examining the swords. He was pleased with the order and showed it by picking up every other blade and exclaiming over it, a display Snape found disconcerting at best.  
  
"Excellent my boy, excellent. We shall have a fine armed army now."  
  
"They seem adequate, save the topaz blades." Snape replied, absent mindedly stroking the chest nestling in the chair by his side. It was an elegant chest: he planned to keep it.  
  
"Yes, the topaz ones do seem to be made more hastily, of an inferior material." Dumbledore squinted. "Any idea why?"  
  
"Did I neglect to mention that?" Snape smirked. "Someone claiming to have crafted the swords, and by that I mean someone other than Master Ralph Ablator, insisted that they had had their supplies curtailed and been rushed to complete the order on time. We did, after all, only give them three days. It was doubtful they had two hundred swords ready made in stock. She did give me an excellent return policy, if you would care to peruse it." Snape deftly slipped the manual to Dumbledore, parted to the proper page. "I suggest we try returning one sword, and then make our decision from there."  
  
"Rhanna Ablator?" Albus's white eyebrows twitched and he rubbed his nose as if he had alergies. "Craftmistress. Strange indeed. I do not doubt the possibility, as many craftsmen employ 'ghost' workers to do the dirty work."  
  
"She is his daughter, merely a child. Perhaps seventeen, if I were to guess. I thought she was part veela on first glance, but the more I spoke with her it seemed she was of some other, equally mystical but far more rare, race. She was quite calm and I detected no deception, but I do not recommend we place our trust in her blindly." Snape picked up a sword and ran a finger along the blade, careful not to catch it along the edge.  
  
"Yes, yes." Dumbledore nodded. "A very strange development. I agree with your recommendation to perform the return spell on one sword."  
  
"This one." Snape handed Albus the one he had previously damaged.  
  
The older man took it, then squinted down at the writing in the manual. "Revelios Compoundium, Imperfectus Repar," he intoned and immediately the sword vanished. A moment later, a sword equal in its appearance appeared and gently lowered to the desk, wrapped in a silvery scarf. "Shall we test it then?" Albus asked with a smile.  
  
Snape touched the special metal of the blade. "We can, but no need. I can feel its strength. It is a far superior weapon." As Dumbledore tested the swords to make sure, Snape pressed his black clad shoulders into the chair. He could look forward to a wasted afternoon of mundane tests, even if the curiosity of Craftmistress Rhanna's existence would give him some intellectual diversion. 


	5. Repunzel

Ah! My Repunzel, let down your long hair.  
  
Ah! Dear Repunzel, wrap me in your arms.  
  
Ah! Sweet Repunzel, weave a ladder to freedom.  
  
Ah! Then Repunzel, sing me a dirge.  
  
Witch's Child  
  
"Up, girl. To work." The command was brief, the words given to a certain coarseness of fiber that only long years and a hardened heart could lend. Rhanna got the point.  
  
"Yes." The daughter of Ralph Ablator flicked her blanket aside and slipped out of bed, looking down towards the floor but sparing no glance towards her elder.  
  
He, thinking she was fearful and bent to his will, did smile then. "Ah, dear Rhanna." He purred. "You must put your skills to work, and make three swords the likes of which you have not been called on to fashion before."  
  
"Have you ordered new materials?" Rhanna spoke softly, her gaze a steady midnight flecked with defiant stars, though only the knotted wood of the floor felt its calculation.  
  
"Yes," The burly man spoke, knuckles red and flaked with dirt, "Only the best for these. The profit shall set us up well for a year at least. I am thinking about expanding the business."  
  
Rhanna laughed softly. "I can only make so many swords father."  
  
"Well once our fame spreads, no one will really care if the sword is good or not, no? Having an Ablator Blade itself will be the prize."  
  
"If you say so."  
  
"Rhanna, are you being sarcastic?" Ralph clenched his fist tighter and swore. "Girl, you are my property and you will follow my commands. Sometimes I think you forget that you are bound to my possession, just as your mother was and her mother before her."  
  
Rhanna looked at him coolly, brushing back a lock of silvery blond hair. "The men of your family have been stealing the women of mine for generations and selling them to the highest bidder. You are no father, but a thief."  
  
The elder man struck a sharp blow to the girl's cheek, but she did not flinch. "You presume to much on my goodwill. I could sell you for a far greater price than I could ever get selling swords. Why that Lucius Malfoy – you will recall he bought a cane from us some years ago – I am quite sure he would be interested." Ralph lay a hand on his daughter's hair, petting it gently. "Why you even look related. I am quite sure he would make me an offer I just could not refuse."  
  
Rhanna hissed lowly. "You dare to treat my kind as if we were house elfs!"  
  
He laughed then, perhaps amused at finally arousing Rhanna's anger. "Your great grandmother was cursed, that all her line should forever be slaves until their blood died out. Who better but me to collect on that debt? I am your father, and you do well to remember that. You know where your cloak lies, take it – but you'll be dead within the day. Now come with me, we are wasting that time you hold so precious."  
  
Rhanna followed him, having no choice, but held her head high and her gaze steady. When her father made sure to lead her by the celestial cloak, a silvery cloth draped over an ornate sword that hung in the living room, she did not so much as glance in its direction. 


	6. 1,2,3,4

Note: Sorry for the shift, but I am having a hard time maintaining the 'distance' of previous chapters, so will probably be a bit closer to the characters thoughts from now on.  
  
~ One, Close your eyes, let the shadows dance  
  
~ Two, Open wide, behold the light  
  
~ Three, Stand firm, let the universe guide you  
  
~ Four, Dance! And let the wind do the rest.  
  
The Forging of the First Sword  
  
Rhanna knelt in the center of a triangle dug into the earth. Twilight was approaching, but she knelt in silence, eyes closed. She wore a simple white tunic of some filmy fabric, that seemed to collect a slight sheen as the light faded and took on its own glow. Her father was in the house, no doubt counting up just how much money he had. He had often mentioned wishing to move to the Middle East, and once wealthy enough, procure materials for more large scale weapons.  
  
But for now, it was her duty to make swords, for dark or for light. She had a significantly harder time with dark swords, and was much more troubled by them, so she was thankful that these swords would be for the light. One week, only one week. A day to forge, a day to rest. Less, if she wished to sneak in anything of her own.  
  
A silent figure, she continued to meditate, listening to the soft sounds of the world about her. The specifications of the sword were a bit vague, but she would make do. The size of the order was enormous. A half-giant perhaps? She wondered at the size of the hilt and blade. She let her mind wander over the imprint the letter detailing it gave. The author of the order would not be it's owner, she felt. The blade would belong to - a burly man? Certainly a large one. Gruff in appearance, crude in his execution of things, but of a stout heart.  
  
The wind whispered. She felt a concern for all creatures, a sweet, simple heart. A good man, she decided, and smiled as her mind's eye captured the blurry face of a large, bearded man.  
  
She pressed her palm to the earth, and opened her eyes. The triangle blazed a soft green, like springtime. She looked to the corner before her, where all the raw materials lay. On the back right corner lay nothing, on the back left, her mediums. Rhanna grinned, and shoved them all away. None were fit. Instead, she took a twig from the ground and placed it on the corner, then returned to the middle to stand. Raising her arms to the air, she was immediately engulfed in the spring glow. Deftly she reached out with her mind and fingers, feeling for the threads of nature that ran through the air. She concentrated, her conscience wandering to the grass and trees and vines that trailed the nearby forest.  
  
Pulling further into her open eyed trance, Rhanna let the Earth guide her, weaving the threads in her heart into the first of the magnificent swords.  
  
When at last the light faded from the triangle, it was well past midnight. The light there was spilled from her tunic, now a radiant silver that rivaled the moon. Rhanna outspread her right hand, and the hilt of the sword came into it, humming with its power. The sword was two large for her, so she brought her other hand to grip it as well.  
  
Spinning deftly, she flung it upwards where it hovered as if with a levitation spell. Her hands worked in intricate motions, now creating the final touches of the sword. The power had already been imbued into the blade and the swords and the sheath, but the design had yet to be assembled. Each motion laid a gem, or sent a line of ornate filigree to inscribe itself into the charmed metal. These motions were second nature to her, though the size of the project was far larger than she was used to.  
  
At two am her father came outside and found her passed out in the triangle. He carried her to her room, after seeing to it that the giant sword was carefully wrapped in a spring green cloth and sent out for delivery. 


	7. Night!

**Ooc: It has been ages since I have wrote on my stories:(:( Part of it is I am taking medication now, Prozac, for a movement disorder – it reaaally helps, but I have had a hard time writing since going on it :S But, I love writing, so I am going to try and get myself back into it.**

**I started this story ages ago, it is not compatible with HBP.  
**

**Night! And the sparkle of frost in the moonlight**

**Night! And the breeze of a whispered song**

**Night! And the crooning of timid reunion**

**Night! And I wait by the unending stream  
**

**Hagrid, Dumbledore, and Snape stared in varying degrees of bafflement, awe, and skepticism at the sword.**

**Hagrid hefted it and gave it a swing, causing Snape to jump back and curse. "You need lessons, badly." The Potions Master drawled and shook his head. The sword seemed up to the task, but Hagrid was as clumsy as ever.**

"**I been practicing for a month!" Hagrid insisted and swung again, cutting an unlucky hedge in two. "An' I was lookin for somethin that could prune that devil bush!" He smiled at the pile of leaves and branches. "That bush ruined three of my best shears!"**

"**How nice." Snape rubbed his forehead. "We will be fighting more than onery bushes, however."**

"**Yes, yes!" Dumbledore smiled and clapped his hands. "Magnificent!"**

"**Fits my grip exactly." Hagrid grinned. "I can cut down any tree with this!"**

"**If only there were a spell for stupidity." Snape sighed.**

"**Any chance we could get the next two swords soon?" Dumbledore paused to be more serious. "We need to start training with them right away. I would like to have them before the next meeting."**

"**I doubt it." Snape countered. "One week seemed impossible enough. This sword – it does not look as if it were easily forged."**

**Dumbledore squinted at the blade as Hagrid actually _petted _it. "No. Few blades could match it. It reminds me of a museum piece I saw when I was a boy, the 'Hand of Gaia'. It was a sword imbued with the very forces of nature and the earth, as this sword seems to be."**

"**I look forward to the other two swords." Snape said honestly.**

"**As do I." Dumbledore grinned far too brightly. "And to solving the mystery!"**

"**Mystery?" Snape raised a brow.**

"**Your mystery girl of course." Dumbledore winked. "And her powers, if things are as she claimed."**

"**She is not 'my girl'" Snape scowled. "Perhaps face to face I could use legilimens on her – but I got the sense it would be dangerous to approach her while she is under her fathers roof."**

"**No swooping to the poor damsel's rescue?" Dumbledore had the audacity to wink again."**

"**No." Severus turned sharply and headed back towards the castle. He had class again soon, advanced potions, and he would need his wits about him. **


	8. Creep

Still getting used the the formatting of Open office...

Creep! How the vine kills the tallest of cedars

Creep! How the insects take over the land.

Creep! How my heart is jaded by fire

Creep! How the oceans take over the sands

Ralph watched his daughter out a small window as she worked to forge the second sword. It was a beautiful sight – nature responding to the young woman's call, the elements joining to create a weapon like no other. Truly hers was a special power, one that he hoped he could hold onto. But for how long?

He could tell he was overworking her, and while he might be opportunistic he was not planning on working her to death. But he could hardly say no to such an offer! So much for just three swords? He wondered just who was behind the order. Dumbledore, that fool? He who must not be named? Ralph shuddered. Fudge, Avery, who?

Below him, the field was bathed in light. A figure in silver was dancing wildly. Were those flames he was seeing? He hated it when she incorporated fire. Once the nearby grass had caught flame...

Ralph shook his head. Perhaps his shop would close for a bit after this order. He needed to cement Rhanna's dependence on him, convince her that she should never leave. She was nearing the age where handling her would be trouble, just like it had been with her mother. She had only stayed with him for Rhanna's sake.

He had not been joking to her about selling her, though he doubted he ever would. While she would command a price, the very nature of her existence would put his own life at risk. No doubt he would be paid off, and then stabbed in the back. If she continued to work for him in this way, however, he would be set for life. Ralph frowned, mulling over other concerns. He would need to find a man who would not mind her company for a few nights to insure the continuance of her bloodline. He himself needed to remarry and hopefully have a son, who could then carry on the family tradition. But that was all in the future -at least as far as Rhanna was concerned. He needed to find himself a wife soon, though finding someone trustworthy would be difficult. He did not especially wish to remarry anyway, not after his last wife. Rhanna's mother had been special beyond comparison, no mere human could take her place.

Frowning, Ralph went downstairs to collect his once again unconscious daughter and the second sword.


	9. Fool

Fool! How the man is burned by the sun

Fool! How the sun is passed by the wind

Fool! How the wind is stopped by the mountain

Fool! How the mountain is carved by the man

The second sword was every bit as magnificent as the first. Dumbledore sat staring at it, entranced. The more one stared at it, the more one seemed to be pulled in – as if flames were dancing incide the blade in wonderful patterns.

"Sir?" Snape interrupted.

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore laid the sword down and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "Amazing."

"Considering the boy will hardly be able to lift it, let alone wield it." Snape sneered. "Although I can see why you would be oh so eager to grant the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy-the-World a sword worth ten times as much as he is."

"He will learn to use it." Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Just as they all will. It is a shame that those children must live through such dark times..."

"And you have to use them as pawns." Severus took a lemon drop just to have a reason for deepening his scowl. "Potter could set the castle on fire with that."

"I doubt it." Dubledore ran his hand along the flat of the sword, tracing the design. "It's not a typical fireblade, despite appearances. It is too bad these swords do not come with instruction manuals, who knows what it is capable of."

"Hopefully, of transporting Potter somewhere out of my sight." Snape grimaced and stood. "Now, I must return to the dungeons before the newest batch of dunderheads blows up another cauldron. When do you plan on giving him the sword?"

"Well now..." Dumbledore grinned. "Could you manage to give him detention for tomorrow night?"

Snape grinned, which was very creepy. "Can I give him detention all week?"

Dumbledore twinkled. Maybe he used a twinkle spell. It was bloody annoying. "Only if he deserves it Severus. Tomorrow night, the dungeons, your quarters. Scare him as much as you want, but make sure he is there."

Snape nodded and left. Well, it might be fun, just to see the look on Potter's face...


	10. Choice

Choice! The wonder of every freeman

Choice! The prison of every mind

Choice! The longing of every servant

Choice! The unchangable branding of time

"Wake up." Ralph growled. "Wake up!"

Rhanna barely registered his voice, and just moaned.

"You have been asleep for seventeen hours strait!"

"Give me a couple days." She mumbled and pulled her blanket over her head. It was quickly pulled away.

"Only one more sword to go! It's due tomorrow morning, and its already afternoon!" Ralph paced nervously. She had never been this depleted before. What if he could not fill the order?

"I cannot." Rhanna mumbled. "Need more time. That last sword – it pulled too much out of me. More than I planned."

"I thought I told you to be more careful than to let the forging take control." Ralph growled and kicked the bed. Rhanna finally sat up, nearly as white as the bed coverings. He pulled out his wand and gave her a once over. She had a fever, and her blood pressure was low. "Eat." He called over a cart with chicken soup and a piece of chocolate. "You would not be so ill if you ate as I told you." He grunted. "I expect you to begin work in half an hour. It's all the time I can spare you. That's an order." He marched out.

Rhanna picked at her food, finally beginning to eat it. She could not disobey a direct order from him, it was literally not in her blood. If he ordered her to kill herself, she would have 24 hours to comply, or her body would take over and end her life for her. If he specified a time, she would have only the time given her to try and save herself. It was the way of her families curse.

A half hour later, Rhanna stumbled her way outside. Her father was outside already. "Make the sword." He growled, looking none too pleased. "I have had a sudden meeting come up with an important client. I expect the sword done by midnight when I return."

Rhanna slumped to the ground and watched as he apparated away. She thought to herself that it would be nice to apparate, be she had little actual magic training, and no wand. There was so much in the world that she could only see, and not partake of.

Rhanna swiped away a drop of rain that had fallen in her eye. Funny it should be sprinkling, she mused, as the skies were so clear. But looking before her, she knew, she just **knew**, that she could not fulfill this request. If she completed the sword to specifications, it would drain her past recovery. Perhaps even past life itself.


	11. Follow

Follow! The old man calls you to freedom

Follow! The gourd that offers you drink

Follow! The waters away to tomorrow

Follow! And never dare look to the past

Rhanna tried to concentrate, but it was so hard. Who would this sword be for? Darkness, sandlewood, fumes, logic, power...

Rhanna opened her eyes, staring dazedly into the late afternoon. Snape? She could feel it. This sword was for him. She felt her blood begin to stir as she imagined the sword, how she would make it, what it would be – it would be wonderful to make.

If she could make it. Rhanna picked up a handful of metallic dust and gave a half yell to the air. She could feel the power in the Earth all around her, but she could not bring it to its center! She could not make him the sword he wanted. The sword he needed.

And yet as the afternoon wore on the compulsion to make it grew. Time and time again her body would force her to begin the process, until the raw magic flowing through her burned her out and she once again collapsed. So far she had begun four times. All she could show for it was a strange stone she had managed on the third try, seemingly coughed up from the ground, and she had no clue how to incorporate it or what powers it had.

It was six o'clock now. Soon, her body would begin the process again. It took many hours to forge a sword, and more than the time she had for one such as this. Her body would keep trying despite the impossibility of the deadlined, finishing the sword even if it meant killing her in the process.

Which meant, she could not stay. She had to get away, to where the forces of nature were weaker, or to where she could **not** make the sword. But where would she go that she would not be pulled back? The only way she could fight this was to find a new master. She did not have till midnight, probably not even another hour. But she could not do it!

Rhanna stood up abruptly, fighting the dizziness. Stumbling, almost blindly, she worked her way into the house. Her scarf was there, just out of reach – a few hard jumps and she clasped it, dragging it to the floor, panting. She was surprised to feel its power coursing into her, soothing her. She had only touched it a few times before, and not for many years.

Holding it now, she felt she understood something about it. It gave her back a piece of her will. Her mother had said something once, that holding the cloak gave her back to herself, but at a heavy price. Apparently she had tried to run away once, but had not found a new master in time.

Rhanna steeled herself to be brave, and gathered a few meager things in the span of two minutes. Just a few books, and some of the more costly components for the sword, as well as the rock. She left the base materials. If she was not around them, she could not be forced to use them.

Turning from the house, she shivered. She felt more free than she had in a long time, but more frightened than she was used to. Rhanna turned to the path ahead of her. Borrowing strength from the cloak, she ran down it, as fast as she could.

It was really a rather pitiful jog, but to her it was the fastest she had ever ran, and in her mind, the race could not be lost.


	12. Crystal

Crystal, the tears that flow down my cheek

Crystal, the waters that bury my heart

Crystal, the maze you have made in my mind

Crystal, the walls that now keep us apart

Rhanna paused in her dash, leaning up against a wide tree sheltering the path. She took strength from its closeness, breathing in slowly until peace settled over her. She wished again that she knew how to apparate. How would she find who she needed in time? Her first thought was to go to Hogwarts, to the Headmaster – but she had no idea where it was. Somewhere in Scotland? Even if she knew, how could she walk there in a day?

And she did not even have a broom. Perhaps she could craft one? Rhanna's hope grew with the thought, then quickly died. She probably could, but it would drain the last of her strength, and she had not been on a broom since she was five. Even then, it had been sitting behind her mother.

She was stranded, without an idea what to do. "Isn't there a bus that is supposed to appear and whisk me away about now?" she asked the sky, remembering the rumor of the Knight Bus. But no headlights appeared and there was no squeal of tires on pavement. "Maybe its because 'm not official a witch." She looked down. "I don't even have my own wand." Rhanna kicked at the ground and started walking again, twisting her scarf in her hands.

Her mom had told her once about why her escape attempt failed. Failing to find a new master in time, her scarf had **yanked** her back to where her husband/master was. Rather like a portkey, the silvery cloth they were born with had to ability to pull them to wherever their master was.

Or, her mother had whispered this- where their perfect master would be. She had cried, that she had not been brave enough to take the risk...

Rhanna stared at the cloth in her hand. No one knew the total of its magic. But it could indeed be used as a portkey. Could she use it? Perhaps it would just take her to where her father was – but then perhaps she could get him to take back his impossible order. He probably would, once he knew just how much damage it would cause.

But – if she could find a new master? Rhanna cradled the scarf to her chest. She did love her father, in a sort of way, but she also had grown to despise him. She was kept away from the world, his servant rather than his daughter.

"Oh please," she whispered, stroking the scarf. "Take me to someone who can love me as I am. Take me to someone I can love more than life."

She held the cloth to her forehead, not really expecting anything. But if there was even a chance, that she could find a new master who could be a friend? Her tears began to wet the warm fabric.

Warm? It was warm to the touch, and growing warmer beneath her hands. She opened her eyes, and it seemed to glow.

"Wha-?" She asked, but the sound was stolen from her throat as the world began to rush away.

She thought she saw eyes as dark as midnight, but was unsure as the illusion faded into the blackness.


	13. Trust

Trust, such a thing is so highly exalted

Trust, so elusive like sand through the sieve

Trust, one another? Betrayals must happen

Trust is the lie we all want to believe

To Rhanna, it seemed as if the space around her was trying to tear her apart. She could not see; perhaps her eyes were still closed. But she felt herself swirling and being tossed about like muggle children played with their toys. From the times she had been apparated by her father, it had never been like this. The 'fall' through space was growing increasingly more painful, at one point fire laced up her arm as if her shoulder was being pulled. Her mother had never even hinted at anything like this!

Then a strong smell of chemicals washed over her, and her body crashed against something warm but unsteady. Another person? She mused as she blacked out once more.

If being pulled through space was disorientating, the chaos upon waking was even more so. Sound returned to hear, deafening. Voices were talking, shouting, screaming. She smelt smoke, and felt cold stone beneath most of her body. Her head seemed to be lying on something soft, while there was a searing pain in one of her legs. Her mind barely had registered this when she found that the screaming she was hearing was her own voice.

Then the shouts quieted somewhat, and a door opened. Something soothed the pain in her leg and her screaming ended, replaced by hoarse sobs. Rhanna found that her eyes finally were responding, at the very moment she noticed something sharp like a stick was held to her throat.

Coughing, Rhanna opened her lids. The wizard with his wand to her throat had clear blue eyes that seemed not to fit with his elderly body. Was he the one she had been pulled to? Inwardly she shrunk a bit. She hoped not.

Next her eyes darted about the chamber. It was brightening, as some witch was casting spells on the room. Two children were arguing with her, but Rhanna moved on. The pain in her leg was more immediate.

It appeared something had cut a great slash into her left calf, nearly to the bone, and had cauterized the wound at the same time. A pile of robes was smoking on the ground near her, hence the smell. And behind them, in the last dark corner – a boy? A young man, holding a sword that looked all too familiar.

A grunt from near her caused Rhanna to look at what she was lying on. A man! She started and moved to sit up, which the old wizard let her. Apparently she had fallen on someone, and they were unconscious. His head was turned to the side, but his dark hair and black robes did give a clue. Rhanna had the sense that this was Severus Snape, whom she had studied some. Perhaps he was the one? She shivered again, but perhaps it was the cold. And yet, she felt comforted by the thought briefly.

"Where am I?" Rhanna asked softly, then realized she was not clutching her scarf. Had something gone wrong? Where was it?

"A better question, who are you?" The old man asked, warily but with a hint of kindness in his voice.

"The wards are back up, for now." The older witch interrupted. "How she got in I have no idea."

"She's after Harry!" The red head youth blurted out, escaping the witch's grasp to run over to the boy in the corner with the sword. "You all right mate?"

"'S ok Ron, I think I got her worse than she got me." Still, the boy was eying her warily.

"Your name, child?" The old man asked again.

"Craftmistress Rhanna Ablator, I presume?" The man on the floor stirred to face her, his lips tight. "I have no need of this." Rhanna found her silver scarf being shoved into her hands, and she trembled under the man's gaze. He looked none too happy. But he had had the scarf! Which meant he should, theoretical, be the one she should choose as master.

"The girl from the sword shop?" The old man raised his eyebrows, then dropped his gaze to the scarf in her hands. He looked puzzled for a moment, then the light of memory seemed to steal into his eyes. "Could that be how you passed the wards of Hogwarts?" He murmured, reaching out to touch the scarf.

Rhanna reflexively pulled it away, causing the red head to pull his wand on her.

"Don't you dare make any sudden moves!" The boy hollered.

"Is that?" The other young women in the room stepped forward and held her hand out. This time, Rhanna let her feel the cloth. "But it can't be."

Snape stood, dusting himself off. "Not every shiny cloth is a legend, Granger." He half-snarled. "But in this case, yes. I believe we have stumbled upon the impossible."

"Merely improbable." The old man countered, offering a hand to Rhanna. "Rhanna, is it?"

"Yes." Rhanna took it, wincing as she stood.

"I told you she should Not be standing on that wound!" The old witch came over. "I took some of the pain away but that doesn't mean – wait, how IS she standing with a broken leg?"

"Not to worry Pomfrey." The old man chuckled. "Her kind heal quickly. Harry, do come out of your corner and introduce yourself. I'm sure she does not blame you for your reflex."

"Sorry." The boy came over, and she saw him properly for the first time. The scar, he must be Harry Potter. And he held the plasma sword she had crafted. "I'm Harry. I just heard a crash and you came out of the sky, I thought you were a Death – someone attacking Snape. I swung, and well, I got your leg. But you seem to be all right."

"Harry!" The girl shrieked. "All right? Her leg is covered in blood!"

"I will be fine." Rhanna closed her eyes briefly. "I should give you all an explanation – I did not know I would end up here. It was a desperate attempt, I-"

"I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts." The old man interrupted. "You have met our Potion's Master Severus Snape, and this kindly woman here is Madam Pomfrey. Harry's two friends are Hermione and Ron, who apparently were waiting just outside the door, and came in yelling when they heard the crash."

"Nice to meet you all." Rhanna ducked her head.

"I've never met a, a nymph before." Hermione's mouth was wide open.

"Dryad." Rhanna admitted quietly. "Though it is not something I advertise."

"I should think not." Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, your secret is safe with us. But why ARE you here?"

"I was looking - "

"I will not be your master, girl." Snape intoned, his voice quiet but seeming to fill the room. With that, he turned and stalked over to what appeared to be his desk.

"Master?" Hermione snorted. "You can't own a nymph. You can keep them captive, but you cannot order them about like house elves."

"Who would want that bloody git as a master anyway?" Rhanna heard Ron whisper to Harry.

"Harry." Dumbledore turned to the boy. "This woman claims, and I believe her, that she crafted the sword you hold. She could be an invaluable asset to our cause. She can enter dangerous places, make weapons, defy most curses, protect you with her life – if she served you."

"Served me?" Harry squeaked.

"Stupefy." Dumbledore said without warning, casting the spell on Rhanna. She just blinked in response. "Petrify, stun, such spells do not work on her kind. Some curses, and some charms will, but it all their innate defense is very high. Her arriving here is a blessing."

"Yes, I am sure a servant of her caliber is exactly what Potter needs." Snape announced sarcastically then went back to sulking.

"What do you say Harry? Would you be willing to take Rhanna as your servant? It is not an easy task, for she will be bound to you and all your orders. It is a great responsibility to command a Dryad." Dumbledore was smiling broadly now, and Rhanna felt her stomach churn. Sure, the boy was nice enough, but she did not wish to be a slave to someone no older than herself.

"She's not an object!" Hermione interjected. "She shouldn't be serving anyone! She's not some slave!"

"But." Rhanna stopped the girl with a hand on her shoulder. "That is exactly what I am. My family line has been cursed for generations, to be slaves to humans. And if I do not find a new master soon, I will be pulled back to my father."

The clock struck ten, and Rhanna grimaced. Power was ripped from her, using the dungeon stones and bits of moss for its work. "I have little time!" she cried out, as the floor began to heave and Harry took a step back, staring. "My last order was to create the third sword." She looked directly at Snape, and unwillingly he locked eyes with her. "Your sword, isn't it?"

Snape nodded as Rhanna collapsed to the floor, unable to remain standing, chunks of the ceiling now falling to join the tornado in the middle of the room. "I can't." She gasped out, clenching her teeth against the pain. "I don't – have the strength." She hung her head, no longer willing to lock eyes with Snape.

"You do not have to finish it now, if you can't." Dumbledore patted her on the head.

"I only have till midnight." Rhanna's voice was very audible. "And I have no time left."

"Harry." Dumbledore motioned the boy forward again. "There is no shame in it. She needs a master, and if one is not found quickly she may be hurt badly. She may even die."

"But she can't be someone's slave!" Hermione insisted. "Harry, you can't!"

"If Dumbledore says its all right..." Harry looked anything but convinced, and cowered under Hermione's glare.

Rhanna shook her head no, but she could no longer spare the strength for speech. He might be the 'Boy Who Lived' – but she was not keen on the idea of him being her master. It just felt wrong.

"No." Harry shook his head finally. "I would rather die than lose my freedom- I can't take hers."

Dumbledore sighed. "Then I will have to." He stepped closer, and Rhanna shrunk away from him.

"But she looks scared..." Ron said finally. "Maybe Hermione could?"

"Granger is female." Snape sneered and stood, watching the movement of the stones intently. Rhanna was focused on them now, her hands moving in strange gestures, weaving the magic.

"Wow, really?" Hermione scoffed under her breath. "What about you Ron? I mean we do not HAVE to treat her like a servant and all..."

"She is an asset to the Order." Dumbledore said grimly. "Her nature is to serve. If we deny her that – it would be like denying a House Elf work."

"Well they shouldn't be slaves either!" Hermione stomped her foot.

"I'll do it." Ron offered again.

"No." Dumbledore seemed against the idea. "It will have to be me." He took his wand and scratched it along the palm of his hand, cutting gently until a line of blood was visible. He held out his palm and smiled. "Come girl, and then you can rest."

Rhanna steeled herself to show no emotion, even as she held her hand before her eyes and watched the barest cut grow there.

"Are you sure Rhanna?" Hermione begged. "I'm sure you are more than a slave. You must be able to choose!"

"Choice." Rhanna whispered, slowly extending her hand. She had to have a master, it was the way things had to be. But, he was not the one she had been pulled to. She had the feeling that there was no happiness down this path.

"Don't be frightened." Dumbledore assured her, slowly reaching for her wrist.

"Master." Rhanna said under her breath. Could she call this man master? No. Turning, she knelt before a startled Snape. "Master." She said again, louder, her eyes locked with his. "I swear my fealty to you and you alone. If you will not accept my service, I will return to my former home and take the consequences."

"Foolishness." Dumbledore shook his head. "Please child, you would have a home here."

"Master Snape, please." She tried to keep her voice steady, holding her palm up.

"Craftmistress - " Snape tried to move away, but Rhanna clasped his outer cloak and he did not force the matter.

"Rhanna." She knelt motionless, save the shimmer in her eyes. "I will follow your orders. I can heal and I can forge. I will do what I can to serve you, and stay out of your way when you do not want me. I am a quick learner and I can organize and cook and I will protect you with my life."

"That won't be necessary." Snape insisted, though he remained still.

"I still think you should guard Harry." Dumbledore intoned. "But we can use you still. Take my hand child, I can see the pain that holding back the forging is causing you. We will give you a home and many freedoms, and you can provide much in skill and service that we need. Your coming here was wise, we need you."

"Need her?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes, so she can be your lap dog." His voice grew deathly quiet. "As much as it pains me to admit, Granger is correct. She is not one of your tools." Snape's eyes lost the little light they had as he stared the headmaster down, who seemed much taken aback.

Then the Potion's Master did something very, very unexpected if not downright mad. He knelt down in front of the girl, and slashing his wand across his palm her took her hand. "I accept your declaration and your offer, and I will take responsibility for your care. You will not be my slave, but my ward."

His words were so quiet that no one but Rhanna heard them, and even she thought she imagined them. The place where their blood connected burned brightly, but it was a soothing burn. The rampant magic within her veins calmed, and the newly forged blade clambered to the broken ground.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked, lips tight.

Snape looked at him cooly. "She's asleep, Albus. You can all leave my chambers now." He glared at every occupant in turn, except Pomfrey, then called out as the Headmaster turned to leave.

"Yes, Severus?" He asked.

Snape smiled. "You can go suck a lemon drop."


End file.
